


Wolf Sitter Extraordinaire: Call Back

by ThomE_Gemcity_06



Series: Wolf Sitter Extraordinaire! [2]
Category: Supernatural, due South
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic John, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Angst, Child Abuse, Dog-sitter, Family Issues, Gen, kid!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 19:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9563825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThomE_Gemcity_06/pseuds/ThomE_Gemcity_06
Summary: Dean took Fraser up on his offer, he didn't have much of a choice.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING of: Child Abuse.

Dad was in a sober blunder, pissed that the world was in clarity this morning or even if it was any time in the day. It was not a good thing that twelve-year-old Dean happened to be there as well, and he couldn't get away. And he didn't try either, he'd learned not to the hard way, just like he learned not to fight back the hard way.　

So Dean let John grab the front of his shirt and jerk him off the floor.　

"Where is it? Where's the rest of the money!" he shouted. His breath was sour and eyes bloodshot.

Dean forced himself not to grimace as spittle hit his cheek. "That-- that's all there is." His usually strong voice was chid-like and scared.　

"You stupid bitch! You have one thing to do and you can't even do that! You have all day, so why is my cup empty?" he shouted in Dean's face before he threw the boy like a rag doll and Dean hit the wall hard enough to leave an impression. He fell to the floor with a whimper. John wiped a hand across his sweaty face before he knelt in front of his son. "Be useful and get the rest of the money so I don't have to look at you sober anymore than I have to." And he hit Dean before going to the bathroom and slamming the door loudly.　

Dean eyes watered from the sting. It wasn't close-fisted, but opened handed. John may have be drunk twenty-four-seven, but he always knew enough not to do any permanent or obvious damage-- he didn't want to draw any attention. Dean’s small, freckled cheek was reddened and he could feel the throb through it. He made himself not touch it as he pulled himself from the floor. His backed ached, he knew that it wasn't bruised, it hardly ever was. The one thing about Dean that John actually agreed upon was the fact that his twelve-year-old body was very much resilient. Dean didn't wait around, he never did, not when dad was like that. So he got out of the room before dad came out of the bathroom and ran two blocks before he finally stopped.　

He needed to get money, preferably before the streetlights turned on. He'd been on the verge of pick-pocketing. What other choice did he have? He was twelve years old, not old enough to get a proper job and the fact that he was going to be suspicious between 8 and 4, not being enrolled in a school. It was tricky, but he was good at blending in and finding his way around Chicago without drawing much attention. But that didn't matter if he couldn't get money to get his dad's whiskey to get a hands-off relief.　

Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets as he trudged along, he was starting to feel helpless. So many times he'd thought about running away, it'd be so easy. Dad'd be too drunk to notice and when he finally sobered-up, Dean'd be long gone. But that'd mean leaving Sammy; the eight-year-old was in a boys home which was the best place for him, out of John's reach. But if Dean went away there'd be nothing to distract the man, and he would remember Sammy.　

Dean pulled his hands free, and in one, came a crumpled tag of paper. He looked at it, having come to a stop at the sight of it. He couldn't believe that he'd forgotten about this-- that cop's number ~ the dog sitting job.　

Why'd he keep this? He'd been lucky enough that dad had been too drunk to question him, that he hadn't found out about the cops. So why did he still have this? That Mountie guy had said that the job was still available and who was Dean kidding, looking after a wolf _would_ be cool. But it'd been a week, what were the chances that it was still open? _Wait._ Why was he even thinking about this? He was a cop and Dean couldn't associate with them, and if dad found out, the twelve-year-old was sure that he'd end up in a hospital-- it wouldn't get worse than that because John _needed_ him.　

Dean found himself shoving the number back into his pocket, it'd be a last resort. He walk around town and if he couldn't find anything, then he'd… he'd call the Constable.

Someone or something in the world must've hated him because there was nothing, no job for a twelve-year-old-- except, of course, dog-sitting. He'd been all around, encountering little more than a dozen of the flyers, none were missing any number tags. He rounded back to the post office and found the same flyer that had been there before, one number had been taken, and that was in Dean's pocket. Was he that desperate that he'd take a job that was clearly trouble?　

Yes.　

Yes, he was.　

He stood outside the post office, looking at his reflection in the dirty window. His cheek was no longer red and had long since stopped stinging. He took a few short breaths, not able to help the nervousness he felt as he went to the same payphone as before, and hating himself for it. But he forced it back, he needed the money. He picked up the receiver and put in another two quarters into the slot, he pressed the numbered keys, not having to take out the slip of paper to look at the number again-- having remembered it didn't bode well with him.　

It rang multiple time slike it had before, but this time Dean didn't try and hang it up.　

_"Yeah, Vecchio." Said the same loud voice as before._

Dean didn't know why, but before he answered, he covered the mouth piece with his sleeve before he spoke. "Is Constable Fraser there?" he forced his voice to go deep.　

"Yeah, hang on."　

" _This is Fraser,"_

"I'm calling about--"　

_"Dean!"_ _Fraser couldn't stop himself._ 　

Dean paused and took his sleeve from the mouth piece. "How'd you know?" he slipped.　

_"You needed this," Fraser told him. "I knew from the first time we spoke_."　

"You couldn't possibly know that." Dean said.　

" _Ray tells me that all the time." Fraser said not in agreement, but as a fact._ 　

_Whatever_. Dean couldn't help but wonder if he was out of his mind. "I was wondering about the wolf-sitting job." He forced himself not growl.　

_"Of course! You're hired."_

"Just like that? You don't-- you don't wanna know anything?" he had to go a jinx himself, didn't he? Dean couldn't help it, Fraser wasn't like any adult he met before. He didn't ask questions or treat him like a child.　

_"I already know everything I need to_." Fraser assured him.　

Dean wasn't sure how he felt about that statement. What exactly did the Mountie know?　

" _You can start whenever you like. Ten dollars an hour,"_ 　

"What? Isn't that a lot?" really, why was he trying to blow this?　

" _Well," there was a pause on the other side of the line. "It's in Canadian money."_

_Of course._ "What am I supposed to do with that?"　

This pause was much longer and Dean was sure that he could hear Fraser's brain turning over.

_"I've been meaning to do a money exchange_." Fraser admitted, sounding ashamed.　

"I can start right now." Dean told him, not wanting this conversation to go on any longer-- wanting to get this over with fast.　

" _Great! You know the address," and he hung up._

Dean looked at the receiver with an open mouth. How could this guy know that he'd kept the number? How'd he know that Dean would call back? And how in the hell could he know that Dean had unconsciously remembered his address despite the fact that he hadn't really been listening? Just a phone call with this guy made him tired-- something that he could never afford.　

Dean hooked the receiver back in the cradle, he stood there for a moment before he started to walk in the direction of the man's address. He found that it probably wasn't a good idea for a kid his age or any kid at all, to be walking around a place like this unattended; but then again Dean wasn't _just_ **any** kid and where his motel was, was worse than this place by a long shot. His chin was up, back straight (His shoulders were tight due to his previous encounter with the wall); he walked like he belonged there, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his face as hard as a twelve-year-old's could be (It was hard for Dean because the freckles).　

Dean came to a sudden stop, standing across the street from Fraser's building. He could turn back now, he was sure that it wasn't too late. This was a dangerous thing that he was doing; to him it felt like the next thing to actually walking into the Chicago police station. He wasn't worried about that Vecchio, but was doubly so about the Constable. That man was relentless if Dean ever ran into it-- the things that that man already seemed to know about him... that number would triple if he did this, them running into each other on what? a weekly basis? Because he needed this job if he didn't want to hug that wall again, so he'd just be careful-- more than he'd ever been.　

Before he stepped into the building and made his way to the third floor-- there was no way that he was going to use that elevator-- he found himself smoothing his short spiky hair and trying to smooth permanent wrinkles from his shirt. Nothing'd changed when he finally made it to the third floor though, and he got angry at himself again. He didn't even get a chance to knock on the door or take a breath because before he even stopped properly, the door swung open and what seemed like an eager Canadian stood in front of him.　

"You made it in record time," Fraser greeted him.　

"I suppose I was close," Dean answered him.　

A knowing expression flashed across his face and Dean didn't like that one bit. Either he somehow knew that Dean had ended back at the payphone at the post office, or he'd found out where Dean was staying. There was the possibility that he actually knew nothing and that Fraser was just playing, but Dean was sure that that wasn't the type of guy that the Constable was-- which was more worrisome. But Dean didn't let it show ~ _stay objective._ 　

"Come in," Fraser invited after he took in Dean's appearance. He noticed something off when the preteen slipped through the doorway; there was a tightness about him, but he just put it off as nervousness. Dean stopped a few feet inside and Fraser closed his door before he turned back to Dean. "Before I leave you and Dief alone together, I want to make sure that you two get along." Fraser told him.　

"Dief?" Dean asked, sure that he'd heard that name before.　

"Yes. Diefenbaker. Or just Dief is fine as well." Fraser told.　

"Right." Dean nodded. "That was the name that you yelled that sent a wolf out to take a chunk out of my ass." He didn't mean to swear or he did, but not here, not in front of a cop.

"Diefenbaker doesn't partake in that particular endeavour." Fraser defended his friend. "But I may have overreacted to the situation." He admitted, albeit quietly.　

"Ya think!" Dean snapped.　

Fraser just looked at him with raised brows.　

"Sorry," Dean muttered, the _but seriously_ wasn't said but was intended. He needed this and couldn't believe that he was bad-mouthing. "Why'd you offer me the job, anyways?"　

Fraser's gaze pierced him. "Well, it's quite simple, Dean." And then he went into a long explanation about he believed that people deserved second chances, how he knew that Dean was responsible despite his age, and Dief had to agree with him, and wada wada wada.　

Dean stared at him open mouthed because really, _who the hell was this guy?!_ 　

"In any case," Fraser said. "I think that you should meet Diefenbaker; there are a few things that I would like to go through before I leave you to it."　

Dean nodded, the sooner they got this over with, the better.　

"Dief?" Fraser called.

Dean could hear the click of nails on wood floor and around a small section of wall came the half-wolf. He glanced at Fraser, jerking his chin before he sat and stared at Dean. Dean stared right back, his lips slightly agape. Fraser watched them curiously. The seconds were ticking by and the pair never looked away and scarcely blinked-- Fraser had never seen anything like it.　

"Hey," Dean finally muttered.　

Dief yipped back in greeting.　

"Well, this is unexpected." Fraser said.　

Dean tore his gaze from Dief to Fraser. "What do you mean?"

"I've never seen him react like this before." Fraser told him.　

"You mean, not eating my face?"　

Dief grumbled about that, needing to point out the fact that he _didn't_ dabble in that kind of activity.

Dean looked at him, his hands raised. "Sorry, we just met." He muttered and wondered why he was talking to a fricken dog. He was not going to be like one of those freak's that talk to their pets because they had no friends-- he was not going to end up like Fraser.　

"Fascinating," Fraser mumbled.　

Both looked at him.　

Fraser was looking at Dief. "Keep your fur on, okay? I’ll move it along." He turned to Dean, "He's partially deaf and has very selective hearing so when you talk to him be sure you're in his eye-line; he'll be able to read your lips."　

Dean found himself once again looking at Fraser with his lips slightly parted. "How is that possible?"　

"I taught him, he learned." Fraser said it as if it were as simple as that. "He can also read Inuit."　

"Okay," Dean said, even though it clearly wasn't.

"Right. Well, he needs his exorcise so take him out, but make sure you tell him to stay close; he has a tendency to run off. If you have to, hook him on a leash." Fraser instructed.　

Dief's chest rumbled in disagreement at that.　

Fraser glanced down at him, "Well, then listen to Dean and it won't happen."　

Dief grumbled again.　

"Stick to the park on 5th, everyone knows him there so there won't be any trouble." Fraser continued.　

Dean nodded.　

Dief's nose twitched and his ears flickered and he suddenly butted Dean’s thigh.　

"Whoa!" Dean stumbled a step. "What was that for?" he demanded.　

" _Diefenbaker."_ Fraser looked to Dean. "You wouldn't happen to have and sweets on you?" he asked.　

Dean looked at him in confusion. He actually couldn't remember the last time he had a piece of candy, but he found himself checking his pockets anyway. And he found something to, a small candy in his back pocket that he had no idea was there; it'd been heated, wetted, washed and sat on a dozen times over-- he didn't even think that it was edible anymore. He held it out in the palm of his hand to Fraser. "It's a mint… I think." he told the man.　

"Mm." Fraser inspected it.　

A whine left Deif.　

"Really?" Fraser turned to the dog. "It's not even edible anymore, and I don't see how it could hold any interest for you when it's not sugar."　

Dief barked at that, stubborn.　

"No." Fraser told him. "You're not getting it." He took the sweet from Dean's palm and put in in his tunic's breast pocket.

Dief grumbled in disappointment.　

"What's all that about?" Dean asked, sure he was losing it.　

"Since we came to Chicago, Diefenbaker has developed a palate for junk food, as it so happens." Fraser shook his head at said wolf.　

"So, I'm guessing don't give him any sort of junk food?" Dean said.

"Um, yes, that is correct." Fraser nodded. "I've prepared his meals for the day already, their in the refrigerator. Feed him in an hour and then again before I get back."　

Dean nodded.

"Alright." he looked between the two of them. "I'll leave you to it." He opened the door, but before he left he turned back, "If you need anything, there's a payphone across the street so just call that same number from the poster."　

Dean nodded.　

"And Dief," Fraser stared the dog right in the eyes, his own narrowing slightly as he tried to get his point across, " **Behave.** "　

Dief barked, his chin up as he moodily ignored the Constable.　

"Have fun," Fraser told Dean before he finally left, shutting the door behind him and leaving him and the half-wolf officially alone.　

And with Fraser now gone, Dief laid down and looked at Dean.

Dean looked back, biting the inside of his cheek. "So, I don't suppose you have any ideas on what to do?" he muttered to the dog. He was talking to him again, not a good sign. And how hard could this be, really? Just feed him and walk him, right?　

Simple.

0-0　

"This is one of the more stupider things you've done, Fraser." Vecchio told the Constable, looking out the passenger window to see said Mountie.

"You're wrong, Ray." Fraser denied.　

"He's a punk, Benny. When are you going to realize that not everyone wants your help." Ray shook his head. "When this backfires on you, you can't blame me when I tell you so."　

"That won't be necessary." Fraser assured him. "Dean is quite responsible, and since I didn't a get call, nothing has gone wrong."　

Ray scoffed at that. "Just because he didn't call doesn't mean that nothing went wrong."　

"Why do you always think everyone's a bad apple, Ray?"

"Because I'm not an idiot like you, Fraser." He deadpanned.　

"You're wrong, Ray." Fraser repeated. He was never offended by anything that Vecchio said, he was after all a loud mouth.　

"Suit yourself." Vecchio sigh and pulled away from the curb.

Fraser watched him go with a little shake of his head. Ray was wrong and he'd prove it.

He made his way of the stairs and found that this place was messier than usual and he found that it may have led to his apartment. That couldn't be good. He opened his door and it was obvious now that yes, in fact that mud led to his apartment because his floor was covered in it. He shut the door behind him.　

" _Dief!"_ 　

Fraser heard Dean snap from somewhere in the apartment.　

" _Stop messing around. This is your fault, you know. If you hadn't gone after that stupid cat, then we wouldn't be in this mess. So quit being a baby."_ 　

Dief barked in defence.　

Fraser smirked.　

" _And how is this bad?_ You _needed it anyway."_ 　

Dief yiped in outrage at that.　

Fraser heard Dean chuckle and it was nice, he'd been sure that the boy probably hadn't smiled in awhile let alone laughed, and Fraser found a smile on his lips.　

" _Now quit complaining, we need to get this done before Fraser comes back. I need this, Diefenbaker."_ 　

Fraser could hear the plea in the boy’s voice, something that he found it hard to associate with someone like Dean.

" _You don't know what it's like..."_ 　

Fraser heard a brokenness in Dean's voice and felt a pin in his heart, along with the guilt that he got for eavesdropping. But he knew that if he asked anything personal to Dean, the kid would lock up and skip. And as Dean had said, _he needed this._ So Fraser was going to lie and he was going to keep this a secret. And so he opened the door again and shut it louder this time; alerting Dean to his presence this time.　

"Dean?" Fraser called, making his way through the dried mud.　

"Uh..."　

There was a long pause, long enough for Fraser to make it to the bathroom. And was a scene he came upon; Fraser stared, his lips parted. The tub was filled with a foot of water, Diefenbaker occupied it while mud, water and suds occupied his fur. Dean probably hadn't begun in the tub, but from what he'd heard, Dief had resisted, so now Dean was bare foot and like the wolf, wet and covered with drying mud.　

"I-- I can explain." Dean stuttered, looking very much like a drowned rat. "There was this cat, see, and then there was just this big bed of mud..."

Fraser was unable to help himself, he started to chuckled.　

Dief looked offended and Dean glowered at him.

Fraser looked away and cleared his throat before he turned back, his expression relatively straight. "I apologize," he told them.　

"I'll clean it up," Dean promised him. "Please don't fire me."

Fraser looked at him, now all sobered up. "I'm not going to fire you, Dean."　

"You're not?" Dean asked in surprise. W _ow, he really was kicking this horse in the mouth, wasn't he?_ 　

Fraser shook his head. "Of course not. I have tried to find someone for so long to be able to survive a day with Diefenbaker, but have been unable to until you. And I am surprised that you still want to, not many come out of the mud alive."

Dean shrugged his shoulders, looking suddenly embarrassed. "I _will_ clean it up." Dean promised.　

"I'll help you," Fraser told him, unclipping his Sam Browne belt and tunic as well as his boots, rolling up his sleeves.

"You-- you don't have to do that," Dean told him hurriedly. "It's my fault."

But Fraser shook his head. "The blame should be placed on me, for not warning you about Diefenbaker's new attentiveness to mud's location; as well as Dief's for going through the mud in the fist place _when he knows better."_ He gave the wolf a pointed look.

Dief let out a whine.　

"If you insist." Dean found himself saying and Fraser smiled at him.　

Dean wasn't sure how he felt about himself feeling the least bit comfortable in his current situation, but here he was; in a cop's apartment, looking after his wolf, washing said wolf with said cop.　

He wasn't happy about this, he promised himself,　

he wasn't.　

0-0

**Author's Note:**

> Can you smell friendship in the air? I sure can.
> 
> Please review!


End file.
